Checkmate! ?
by Alexannah
Summary: I can't go back, but this is all wrong. I have to sort this out, but I can't without killing someone I love ... or once loved. I wish I didn't have to take sides. But I do. Because I'm the Chosen One: the Boy Who Lived.'
1. Where Dark is Light and Light is Dark

**Summary:** "I can't go back, but this is all wrong. I have to sort this out, but I can't without killing someone I love … or once loved. I wish I didn't have to take sides. But I do. Because I'm the Chosen One: the Boy-Who-Lived."  
Harry is trapped on the proverbial fence in a parallel universe where the sides are switched; where Tom Riddle is headmaster of Hogwarts and leader of the Light, and Dumbledore is the Dark Lord Harry is prophesised to kill …

**Rating:** PG

**Disclaimer:** Don't ask. I'm not even going to try.

**Author's Notes:** So far, the closest I've got to an evil!Dumbledore fic. I'm not exactly sure how I got the idea but now I have I intend to carry it through because I have yet to hear of one the same. I've seen plenty of parallel-universe-where-Harry-or-some-other-main-character-is-on-the-opposite-side and plenty of Dumbledore-is-really-the-evil-one-we're-just-made-to-think-it's-Voldie fics (even read one or two: something I've regretted in part, but thanked for giving me this idea) but this is like taking both, mixing them together, concentrating certain ingredients and voila! It's safe to read for Dumbledore lovers, though – seriously, if I can write it, you can read it!  
(That includes **you**, Dani.)  
There are seven chapters to this fic and I have a sturdy plan. PS: I am not good at battle scenes. Spare me the flames. I tried to end it quickly.

-----

**Checkmate! …?**

By Alexannah

**Chapter One: Where Dark is Light and Light is Dark**

Harry twitched the Invisibility Cloak to make sure he was completely covered, blinking furiously.

The wizarding world had gone downhill since the death of Albus Dumbledore. Two years had passed and Harry was attending the fourth funeral for someone he knew well – now, Arthur Weasley.

Ginny was at the front, next to her mother. Harry tried hard not to look at her. Since they had gone their separate ways in 1997, he had only seen her at the funerals, and every time no-one had known he was there.

Ron had been captured within a few months on their hunt to track down the Horcruxes – he had given the other two the slip in order to see his brother Percy's funeral. Hermione had vanished shortly afterwards when they had split up in their attempt to break Ron out. Since then Harry had been on his own, desperate to find and destroy the Horcruxes and end the war before anyone else died.

Sirius, Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron, Mr Weasley, Percy, Remus Lupin, Flitwick and Tonks were all gone. _No more will suffer_, Harry told himself for the hundredth time. _I __**will**__ end this. I __**will**_.

There were still three more Horcruxes to go, not counting Voldemort himself. Harry was growing more desperate each day. A growing doubt that he would ever achieve his goal was constantly gnawing at him, leaving him far more frightened than he would ever admit. And it was a lonely road. He had taken to talking to himself, in an effort to convince himself he was not on his own. It rarely worked.

A scream snapped him back to the present. Death Eaters were suddenly swarming round the crowds like vicious rooks, wands firing in all directions. The scream was the first victim falling to the ground – Molly Weasley, hit with one of Dolohov's famous cutting curses. The next one was hit a split second later with Avada Kedavra, too soon for anyone to have reacted. Harry recognised the green dress robes and black bun.

_No! Not again! I'm not losing anyone else!_ He pulled out his wand and jumped into the suddenly fully-fledged battle. Most of the remaining Order had been in attendance at the funeral but they had been taken by surprise.

Harry rushed to the crowd gathered round the coffin. He was still invisible and though he tried not to drop his Cloak, defending the innocents was far more important. Within minutes another cutting curse nearly hit him – it missed him, but his glasses shattered, leaving glass in his eyes, and rendering him to his knees with his hands over his bloody face.

A second later he felt a sickening crunch as the heavy coffin was overturned onto his legs. Before he had a chance to so much as whimper something hard hit him in the back of the head.

_Not exactly the most dignified way to die_, was his last clear thought as the world spun and darkened. Among the blackness came a sudden flash of green light, and a kind of numbness overcame him.

-----

He could hear murmuring voices, but couldn't make out what they were saying – or who they belonged to, for that matter. His head _hurt_.

Harry twitched his arms and legs. He seemed to be lying in a bed. It was a luxury that had been denied to him for quite a long time and he sank into the soft mattress, relishing the touch and trying not to think about anything. Breathing deeply, he recognised the clean, sharp smell of Hogwarts' Hospital Wing.

_Wait. Hogwarts? I thought it closed! Or did McGonagall re-open it?_

He opened his eyes, and regretted it a moment later. The walls seemed a much brighter white than he remembered and he had to squint. The indistinct voices paused, and footsteps rushed towards him.

"Don't crowd him!" someone said. "Stand back, give him some space!"

The figures round him moved backwards. Harry squinted. He didn't recognise the man who had spoken. He struggled upright, feeling around for his glasses.

"Are you looking for these?" the man asked, handing them to him.

"Um, yeah, thanks," Harry muttered, taking them and putting them on.

The man who had handed them to him, now that he could see properly, seemed vaguely familiar. He was tall, with dark hair and sharp grey eyes and a very intelligent , yet shrewd, face, and there was something about him that immediately made Harry distrust him. He looked about seventy and was dressed in long sweeping green robes with silver trimming.

_Very Slytherin_, Harry thought.

"Why thank you," the man smiled broadly. "My House, when I was a student."

Harry stared. "You're a Legilimens?"

"Really, sir," a woman – the only one in the room – said, laughingly but with a hint of nerves, "you shouldn't publicise it so." She also looked familiar. Her dark hair was loose and thick, and her eyes … Harry swallowed as he was reminded of Sirius.

"Black?" Harry snapped back to the man, whose eyebrows were raised. "How do you know _him?_"

"Who are you?" Harry demanded.

He received a laugh in return. "Really,_ I_ should be the one asking that. You're barely of age. A _boy_ is going to defeat the most powerful Dark wizard in the world? I think not." His eyes grew curious. "You have a name?"

"Who, me?" Harry was astonished. He seemed to have found a wizard on this planet who didn't know his name. That was rare – no, it was unheard of. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

The dark-haired woman tentatively put a hand on the man's arm. "Sir, he's hostile. Would it be a better idea to be friendly? We need him, even if he is only a boy."

"I'm nineteen, for your information, and I've faced Lord Snake-Face more times than most Aurors."

The room rang with laughter. "Lord Snake-Face! That's a good one," the man chortled. "But I can't see why you called him that."

Harry gave a wry grin. "Yeah, you're right. It's offensive to snakes."

"Excuse me." One of the other men in the room moved forward eagerly. "You said you've _faced him before?_"

"And came out alive?"

Harry nodded. "Out of luck, mostly, but yeah."

The first man shook his head, the amusement gone. "That cannot be right. For a start, Dumbledore knows you're the Chosen One – unless you hid your mark, he would never have let you out alive. Second, you've only just arrived. How can you have faced him already?"

It took half a minute for Harry to work out what he'd said.

"Uh, is there a Healer in here? I would really appreciate knowing what spell I got hit with. I could have sworn you just said Dumbledore was the Dark Lord."

Shivers ran round the room.

"Well, he's brave all right," someone muttered. "That's something."

The first man smiled, but it was humourless. "You heard me correctly, young man. And I think in future it would be best if we restricted the use of that name. We don't want anyone fainting."

Harry shook his head like a dog as if trying to remove water from his ears. "No, I'm definitely hearing things. Or I've got concussion. Or someone's playing a joke. Dumbledore? Dark Lord? Nuh-uh. He's dead for starters."

"If only that were true," someone muttered.

"Two," Harry continued, fighting a surge of anger at that, "There's just … no way. I mean, _Dumbledore?????_ We _are_ talking about the same Dumbledore, right? Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore?"

How on earth did he remember those names? Oh, yeah. They were on his tomb. Even two years after the event Harry still had trouble remembering it had happened.

A murmur ran through the Hospital Wing. "How on earth do you know all that? Most people don't even know his first name!"

The first man shook his head. "I thought I was the only one. The only one on our side, anyway. And yes, we are talking about the same – person. That's his name as sure as mine is Tom Riddle."

**TBC …**


	2. Marked By Lightning

**Summary:** "I can't go back, but this is all wrong. I have to sort this out, but I can't without killing someone I love … or once loved. I wish I didn't have to take sides. But I do. Because I'm the Chosen One: the Boy-Who-Lived."  
Harry is trapped on the proverbial fence in a parallel universe where the sides are switched; where Tom Riddle is headmaster of Hogwarts and leader of the Light, and Dumbledore is the Dark Lord Harry is prophesised to kill …

**Disclaimer:** Don't ask. I'm not even going to try.

**Author's Notes:** I know the first chapter was a bit short, but this is a longer one. I've read DH now and I'm not adding any of it in this fic, I'm happy with the plot as I have it.

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**Chapter Two: Marked by Lightning**

Snape's dungeon. How typical. Although, it wasn't Snape's dungeon here … wherever _here_ was. Reliving the battle, Harry surmised that he had been hit with Avada Kedavra. Which in theory meant he should be dead. So why wasn't he? Or _was_ he? Was this some weird kind of afterlife? It certainly wasn't heaven. Hell, perhaps, though Harry had no idea what he'd done to deserve _that_. He was supposed to be the saviour of the wizarding world, for crying out loud! Or was he here because he failed?

The walls were as damp and cold as he remembered and there was nothing in the room – no cabinets or desks or cauldrons, nothing that could be turned into a weapon. Whoever these practical jokers were, they were smart. Harry ground his teeth in annoyance.

The sound of a key turning in a lock was bliss to his ears. Harry whirled round in time to see the man who was supposedly Tom Riddle slip into the room and lock it behind him.

"If this is the way you treat your supposed Chosen One, I'd hate to see what happens to your enemies," Harry said sourly. He couldn't help it. He hadn't exactly had a good day.

"We need to talk." 'Riddle' folded his arms, leaning against the door. His wand wasn't in sight, but then again, Harry's had been confiscated – he probably didn't think he would need it. How arrogant. Harry quickly quelled the thought in case he used Legilimency.

"So."

Harry was reminded of a long-ago incident with his uncle as he also bit back the urge to say, "So what?"

Riddle surveyed him suspiciously. "First, you can tell me your name."

"Say please."

The grey eyes flashed. "Tell me!"

Harry shook his head. "No way."

Apparently remembering Bellatrix Lestrange's advice, Riddle took a couple of deep breaths before saying in a voice of forced calm, "I told you mine, so now you tell me yours."

"Harry."

"Surname?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't want to risk it. Riddle glared. "Fine. But you're going to have to trust me at some point, _Harry_."

Harry looked around pointedly at the dungeon walls. "Trust a man who throws his supposed allies in here? You're right, it's no wonder I haven't told you my surname, favourite jam and blood group by now."

The favourite jam part rang a bell somewhere in his head but he ignored it. Riddle's facial expression didn't change.

"We're on the same side," he stated. "At least we should be. Maybe you're right and you _do_ have concussion. No-one knows where it is you've been for the last two decades. I can't imagine, wherever it is, it would have been a painless journey travelling back."

"For your information, I'm supposed to be dead," Harry shot at him. "And what do you mean, where I've been for the last two decades? I'm nineteen, I haven't even lived that long."

"Actually, according to our records, you were born in 1979," Riddle told him smugly. "Dropped off at an orphanage not far from here. Your birth parents were never traced. A year after you arrived there was a duel between two older residents and you got in the way." He smiled. "That's when we knew it was you. _Banished in green light, return by the same_."

Harry stared at him. "Would you curse me if I told you I don't have a clue what you're talking about?"

Riddle raised his eyebrows. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You haven't exactly been open about where you _have_ been. Are you going to tell me?"

"I haven't been _any_where," Harry said slowly. "I don't even know where _here_ is supposed to be, only that everything's the wrong way around." Suddenly all the anger and frustration came pouring out. "_You're_ supposed to be the Dark Lord. _Bellatrix Lestrange_ is a convict from Azkaban. _Dumbledore_ was my _mentor_ and _he's_ supposed to be the good guy, not _you!_" Harry paused, breathing hard. "And let me make something quite clear. I don't care where I am, or why I'm here, all I want is to go back to where I came from in the first place and _I am not killing Dumbledore for you!_"

Only one part of that speech seemed to strike with Riddle. His eyes narrowed and he drew his wand. "What do you mean, _Dumbledore_ was your mentor? Talk!"

"I mean what I said," Harry growled. "I don't know where this is, it's either a nightmare or some sort of parallel universe, all I know is that it's completely messed up and _I am not staying_."

Now Riddle looked amused. "And how do you propose you get back to your – er – _other_ universe?" he said in a voice that could almost have been sweet. Harry was reminded of Umbridge. "Would you like me to use the Killing Curse on you?"

"No thanks, I'd rather skip that part."

"Well, then, I doubt you'll be returning home any time soon - I would hazard a guess at never."

"What do you mean?"

"The prophecy, boy, the prophecy!" Riddle barked at him. "You can't go away, you're needed here, and until you've done your job then -"

"What _job?_ I don't remember signing up for any adverts in the Daily Prophet saying, 'Killers needed, sign a contract to murder your mentor (who's supposed to be dead already), no lunch break'?"

"Your job is to kill the Dark Lord!" Riddle yelled. "You're the only one that can! I don't care if he's taught you how to ice-skate, all I know is that's what you're here for and you're not going anywhere until you do!"

The two men stood in silence, glaring at each other, until Harry realised something he'd said.

"Wait. There's a prophecy here too?"

Riddle raised his eyebrows, apparently at the "here _too_", but nodded. "Yes."

Harry's heart sank. He remembered Dumbledore's words about the other one. "_You are free to choose your way, free to turn your back on the prophecy; but Voldemort sets store by the prophecy, and if you do not take it up, one of you will end up killing the other._" Something like that, anyway. If the prophecy here was like the prophecy there – and it sounded like it – it meant that although he had a choice, in the end, the prophecy would end up being completed after all. Unless …

"Does he …" Harry swallowed. "Does Dumbledore know about the prophecy?"

Riddle rolled his eyes. "_Everyone_ knows about it, Dumbledore included."

So that possibility was out the window.

"And … does he know I'm here?"

Riddle shook his head. "Not yet. And I intend to keep it that way as long as possible."

Harry sank onto the floor. The reality of the situation was sinking in. This wasn't some nightmare, he really was in a parallel universe – and it looked like he wasn't going anywhere till he -

Harry didn't want to say it, not even in his head. He couldn't. Even if Dumbledore seemed like the equivalent of Voldemort here … Harry suddenly shuddered. Dumbledore in Voldemort's position was a frightening image. Voldemort was powerful, yes, but Harry knew in his heart Dumbledore was more so. And the Dumbledore in this universe probably wasn't about to award him Special Awards for Services to the School and recommend a hot chocolate. Remembering all the other Dumbledore's funny little habits, Harry's eyes suddenly stung. He couldn't do this.

"What happens if I don't do what you want me to?"

"He'll kill you first and the wizarding world will collapse," Riddle said simply.

A shiver ran up Harry's spine. There had been a time in his fifth year when he had thought Dumbledore did not have his best intentions at heart, but for the most part he trusted him – the other him, anyway – and the thought of either killing the other one was enough to make him feel sick. Suddenly a memory of recovering the fake Horcrux hit him, and he remembered force-feeding Dumbledore the potion and he _did_ feel sick.

There was no way he could go through with this.

But if he didn't …

Riddle was calmly watching his internal struggle, seeming confident that Harry would make the decision he wanted.

"More."

"What?"

"The wizarding world will collapse _more_," Riddle corrected himself. "Right now the only thing holding people up is you. If you back out – or fail – then their last hope will be gone and Dumbledore will rule for good."

"Is this supposed to help?" Harry snapped.

"It's supposed to make you see that you have no choice but to help!" Riddle shouted.

Harry shook his head. "I have a choice. I _always_ have a choice." He paused. "If there was one thing Dumbledore – my mentor Dumbledore, the other one – taught me, it's that everyone always has a choice. '_It is our choices that make us who we truly are, far more than our abilities_.' Or," Harry added, "prophecies about said abilities."

"That's not true. Not the prophecy part. Prophecies are always correct, that's why they're made!"

A sudden thought struck Harry. "Riddle. If this was the other way round – if the prophecy was about you and me – would you expect it to come true?"

Riddle blinked. "Didn't you hear what I just said?"

So he did. Harry thought hard. Back home – what was left of home – Voldemort was the one setting store by the prophecy, and Dumbledore said if Voldemort hadn't heard it it wouldn't have to come true. It looked like here it was the same. Remembering Riddle's attitude and how it differed from Dumbledore's, Harry realised something – though their motives may be different, it looked like their basic characteristics were the same. Which meant …

"Well, Dumbledore believes that prophecies don't have to come true. So, that doesn't mean he'll hunt me, which means that if I don't kill him it doesn't mean he will kill me." Harry knew it sounded muddled, but he was really thinking out loud rather than trying to explain to Riddle.

Riddle's eyes narrowed. "And you expect a wizard like Dumbledore to take the chance that the prophecy will not be fulfilled, do you? Especially after he finds out you're here? You think he hasn't got supporters on the lookout everywhere, ready to report to him when you're found?"

Harry's insides twisted painfully. Maybe, for once, Dumbledore was wrong. Maybe he didn't have a choice after all. Letting the wizarding world – this one – to rot, or killing someone he loved? What a choice.

_See if I ever leave flowers on your grave again_, Harry thought bitterly. _If I ever get home_.

Riddle had caught Harry and he knew it. He drew himself up so his tall figure was even taller. "That's settled, then. You can come with me and I will fill you in on everything you need to know. Then -"

"Wait," Harry said slowly. "I didn't agree to do this."

"Haven't I just told you you don't have a choice?"

"Oh, I have a choice," Harry laughed darkly. "You see, I could walk away and let the wizarding world burn."

Riddle stared at him. "You wouldn't."

"Up till now I wouldn't have done," Harry agreed. "But even if I try I will never be able to beat Dumbledore, and I have a job to do back home. I'm guessing if dying there brought me here, then dying here will take me back. All I have to do is let Dumbledore find me and then I can finish my job."

"You're crazy," Riddle hissed. "You would let millions of innocent people suffer because of a _job?_"

Harry smiled at him. Suddenly he had the answer. "Not just any job, Riddle. Back home, I have the job of killing _you_, or millions of innocent people will suffer." Harry couldn't help but laugh at the look on Riddle's face. "My choice really is to choose between my world or yours. And I choose mine." He paused. "I wouldn't be able to save yours anyway. Dumbledore's too powerful for me."

Riddle bristled. Whether it was Harry's choice, or the fact that Harry had basically told Riddle Dumbledore was better, Harry didn't know, but the next minute Riddle barked at Harry to follow him and unlocked the door.

Harry didn't really care where he was going, until he saw a familiar gargoyle. His heart jumped so violently he thought he _was_ going to be sick after all. He silently pleaded that Riddle wouldn't take him up there, but he barked something in Latin and the gargoyle jumped aside. No Fawkes. No whirring silver instruments. The portraits on the walls were all of unrecognisable men and women. The Sorting Hat was the only thing he knew from the other universe. Harry hadn't been in this office since Professor McGonagall had dragged him in to ask him where he'd gone with Dumbledore, That Night. It was so similar, and yet so different.

Riddle opened a familiar cabinet and brought out a Pensieve. Harry suddenly knew what was happening. His thought were confirmed as Riddle prodded the thoughts with his wand and a figure rose up out of it, revolving slowly, and began to speak in harsh tones.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born as the seventh month dies … born to those who follow him, raised by those who despise him, where dark is light and light is dark … but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … marked with lightning by his enemy's hand, he will be banished in green light and return by the same … to restore peace to the universe, two will become one and evil will become none … the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies …_"

Finally, Harry broke the quiet. "I hate Divination."

**TBC …**


End file.
